The Painting in the Parlor
by mannd1068
Summary: Trowa is sent to investigate ghostly hauntings in a old house the week of Christmas, he gets more than he bargins for with the ghost who is haunting the house and his memories.
1. Dec 22

_**The Painting in the Parlor**_

_Mannd_

_~*~ _

_AN:I only own the story, not the characters, although the idea has been used over and over many times. This story came out of hunting through my apartment for something to write about, for a Christmas Character One shot on Slytherin Mafia. Anyway, it is based on my two favorite computer games, (Ravenhurst and Scratches) and an excellent movie starting Lindsay Wagner and Marc Singer called __The Two Worlds of Jennie Logan__. The DoveFlight Manor is based on my mental picture of the house in Scratches. 1915-16 Slang translations are at the bottom of the fic. I know that Quatre is supposed to be Arabian, but for my fic he had to be English. _

_~*~ Dec 22 ~*~_

Trowa got out of his truck, glared at the large lock on the gate, the wind whipping his uni-banged brown hair in his green eyes. With a grimace, he sighed and pulled out the small ring of keys that he had been given by his commander, Lady Une. He looked back at the lock, then snorted as he looked at the keys. It didn't take a genius to figure out that the one large heavy key was for the large old-fashioned lock. He pushed his way through the nearly knee deep snow, fitting the key in the padlock and fighting with it for a few seconds smirked with success as the lock opened. He removed the lock, then heavy chain from around the ornate gate. Then pushing on it, he was relieved when it swung open, the filigree work on the gate allowing most of the snow to fall through instead of acting like a wall. He waded back to his four-wheel drive truck and threw the lock and chain on the passenger seat, backed up several feet, and hit the gas. The tires spun for a second then he was forward, through the gate and up the unplowed drive. He came to a jarring stop, with cloud of airborne snow just a few feet from the old porch of the house, smiling at himself in satisfaction.

Trowa opened his door and had to push against the snow. He reached in the back to get his duffle, two paper grocery bags and box of canned goods, and made his way to the porch steps. A movement in the upper right window caught his eye, a flash of white and a movement of fabric, but when Trowa turned his full attention up, there was nothing there. "Hello, little ghost," he murmured to himself as he finally stomped up the stairs, partly to shake the snow off his jeans, and partially to break the nearly deafening silence that seemed to surround the mansion.

Trowa pulled the key ring from his pocket and began trying the various smaller keys in the lock. He cursed silently under his breath when the sixth key didn't work. He pulled it out and frowned. He put the first key in the lock again, the door opened before he could turn it. He stared at the door and shrugging to himself, went into the house, closing and locking the door behind him, flicked on his small flashlight.

He whistled in appreciation of the old wood and marble staircase that swept gracefully from the left of the entrance to the right of the second floor. He put his belongings down and glanced around the open parlor on the right and the front hall that he could see in the shadows. A candelabra was on a side table by the front door with most of the candles broken or missing. Trowa was able to light the few remaining candles, pocketed his flashlight. He held it up and whistled again, the parlor was beautifully, if stiffly, decorated. He moved around the room, lighting a few candles in wall brackets. He moved to the fireplace and after several unsuccessful attempts finally got a small fire going. He took several candles down from their brackets, filled the candelabra and moved through a door. An old study complete with an antique desk and one wall completely filled with dusty books met the candlelight. He moved on through two sliding doors.

The dining room was old and musty. A tablecloth, now just a moth eaten fabric, covered a table with a bowl at it center of what once must have been flowers. Trowa glanced around the room, noting the two armoires on either side of a swinging door which he pushed through. This led him to a back hall and another door as well as a set of stairs going up on his left. Trowa considered the steps for a moment then moved on through the hall to the door and finally nodded at the old kitchen. The table was filthy from dust. Trowa hoped that the water worked in the sink. Three additional doors were in the room. The one facing Trowa led outside to the rapidly darkening back yard and two on his right. He opened the first and blinked in surprise at the dismal servant quarters. The mattress looked moth eaten and stained. Trowa vowed that if he didn't find a better bed on the second floor he was going to sleep on the parlor couch. A quick look further in led to a disgusting bathroom. Trowa hastily backed out then with a sigh opened another door. This led to a narrow set of stairs that led down and Trowa followed them, grinned in delight as he found the fuse box.

Trowa left the candelabra and raced back up the stairs, through the darkening rooms to the front, opened his duffle and pulled out a small tool kit. He moved back the way he came, quickly changed fuses and feeling foolish, crossed his fingers and pulled the switch. Lady Une had promised to have the electricity and water turned on during the two weeks he was to be here. He smiled when the ancient light bulb began to flicker then came on casting a harsh light that filled the room with shadows. _'See Trowa, crossing your fingers always works,_' the smug Duo voice said in his head. He rolled his green eyes, chuckled to himself as he blew out the candles and looked around the cluttered room.

A very old fashioned furnace stood at the far end, Trowa eyed it, decided to give it up for a lost cause, at least for tonight. He might look at it tomorrow, for tonight fire in the fireplaces would have to keep him warm enough. He walked back up the stairs and was delighted when the refrigerator was humming softly. He quickly walked back through the rooms and paused in the entrance hall. A Christmas tree sat under the curve of the staircase; its limbs limp and sad with old and broken ornaments. He was positive a tree hadn't been there when he had walked into the room. The tree was huge and would have been very hard to miss. He warily glanced at it, picked up the paper bags and box, went back into the kitchen and quickly and efficiently put the groceries away. He vowed to scrub out the appliance tomorrow, hoping, with a small shuddered, that none of the mold that was growing on the lower shelves would decide to crawl up to the top and attack his food.

After adding a few more logs on the fire, Trowa decided to go up stairs and explore. At the top of the stairs, he was met with three doors and an archway at the end of the hall. The door on the right was a small bedroom with a connecting small bath. Trowa knew that a small fire would quickly warm the room, retrieved his duffle from the main floor and put it on the bed, then started a fire. He left the room, closing the door firmly behind him to keep the heat in. Walking down the hall, he opened the double doors on the right. An art gallery/studio met his gaze. Several easels were covered in moth eaten cloths. Several pieces of unframed art were leaning against the wall. He closed the door and looked into the room across from it. The master bedroom looked stiff, cold and uninviting. Trowa was glad he had found the other bedroom first. A quick glance around and he was out in the hall moving towards the archway. Another set of stairs led upwards. The third story revealed the attic stairs and contained three rooms; a partially finished bathroom and two rooms filled with tools and construction materials. Trowa frowned as he moved back to the room he had claimed as his own. There was supposed to have been a son, where was his room?

He opened his duffle and pulled out a leather notebook. He went back down the stairs to the parlor where he sat on the formal sofa, put his feet up on the aged velvet and began going through the files that Une had given him.

_Agent Barton, _

_Iria Winner, the last of the Winner family and previous owner, has recently bequeathed DoveFlight Manor to us. The house has had a few tenants over the passed 90 years, but none have stayed longer than a few days, most citing ghostly activities. Ms. Winner's great uncle, Quatre Winner disappeared almost one hundred and twenty years ago on Christmas Eve. Many claim his ghost haunts the place. I know you are a World War I buff, so the fact that Q. Winner was a fighter pilot for the British air corps is a bonus. I am sending you to see if the home would be a fit safe house for vacationing agents. _

_I know that it is Christmas, but with your sister Catherine and the circus on L2, I didn't think you would mind doing this for me. _

_Thank you_

_Anne Une_

_Commander of Preventers_

Trowa flipped through the file of papers, which consisted mainly of tenants breaking their leases within a few days of moving in over noises, bumps in the night, and cold drafts. When the fire in the fireplace began sputtering, Trowa blinked in surprised and glanced at his watch. It was late, later than he realized. He yawned, put the papers away, banked the fire, blew out the remaining candles, quickly walked through the downstairs to make sure all the lights were off, then trooped upstairs. He laid down on the bare mattress, and noted the pillow gave off a slight scent of musty lavender. He pulled his coat on top of him to act as a blanket and quickly fell asleep.

~*~

The grandfather clock in the parlor struck three. Trowa shivered slightly in his sleep as his coat slipped off his shoulder and pooled at his back. A blond haired man stood at the end of his bed dressed in a World War I airman's uniform watching the sleeping agent curiously. With a soft smile, the man put a blanket on Trowa. He backed away from the bed as Trowa stirred slightly. When Trowa opened bleary eyes and looked around there was no one in the room.

AN2: This is mostly unbeta'd as I swamped my betas at the last second with it, but I wanted to start posting it on the days when it was suppose to happen. The second chapter is written and will be posted tomorrow. This is for a Christmas Contest on C-I and will be posted as a one shot there, but posted on FanFic as multi chapter on the days it pertains to, which is from now until the 26th. A beta'd version of this will be posted when my beta's get back to me.

Comments and Criticisms welcomed.


	2. Dec 23

~*~ Dec 23 ~*~

_Still don't own, darn it!_

Trowa's cell phone was ringing, he sighed as he reached behind him, fished through his coat pockets and pulled it out, "Barton," he said and snuggled back under the warmth, "morning Duo."

"How did you know it was me?" Duo asked. Trowa could hear the slight pout in his voice.

"Because only you would forget that it is," he pulled his arm out from under the blanket and cracked a green-eye at his watch, "5 in the morning here." Duo gave a yelp of apology, that had Trowa chuckling, "what can I do for you?"

"I was wondering how the haunted mansion is? And where my Christmas presents are," Duo asked. Trowa gave up going back to sleep as a lost cause, sat up on the bed and scooted back so his back was against the wall. When he flicked on the table lamp set on the nightstand he froze. Then gently, he began touching the blanket that covered his legs, "Trowa?" Duo prompted, "Are you there?"

"I'm here," Trowa said.

"What's wrong 03?" Duo finally asked. His code name seemed to snap Trowa out of his trance.

Trowa sighed and rubbed his forehead, "nothing, 02," he said with a smirk, "unless you count a blanket that appeared out of nowhere and covered me last night." His smile grew as Duo's silence grew.

"A blanket?" Duo finally said, his tone disbelieving.

"Yep," Trowa said as he swung his legs off the side of the bed, "a nice warm wool blanket that was not covering me last night when I went to bed, but somehow appeared while I was sleeping, and…" he paused to look at the fire grate that had a cheerfully flickering fire, "someone added logs to my fireplace."

Silence met that revelation, Trowa moved out of the room and down to the first level. With a flick of the switch the parlor was filled with soft light. Trowa paused again as he stared at the wall over the fireplace. Last night an empty frame had been there, now, he could see it held an oil painting. An almost familiar looking blond man sat in an arm chair, he was dressed in a World War I military uniform, "this place is getting weirder and weirder," Trowa muttered as he moved in closer to the painting.

"Are you sure you are alone?" Duo asked.

"From what I could tell," Trowa said, "I will double check the house again, and the other buildings but I don't think there is anyone living here besides me."

"You know you are giving me the creeps, right?" Duo asked and Trowa grinned, "Listen, I'm going to talk to Heero and WuFei and see if we can join up and meet there on Dec 26th."

"Sounds like a plan," Trowa said, "gives me a few days to solve this mystery."

"Well don't solve the whole thing," Duo protested, "I want to meet this mysterious ghost."

"Yeah, yeah," Trowa said absently as he moved through the dining room, "bring food and snow shovels," he touched the clean white table cloth that now covered the dining room table.

"Anything else?" Duo asked.

"Yeah," Trowa said shaking his unease off as he moved into the kitchen, "can you do some more research on the Winner family? Une didn't have a lot of data."

"Will do," Duo chirped, "see you in four and don't forget my Christmas presents!"

~*~

The refrigerator, stove, sink, and table got a good scrubbing before Trowa even would consider making his breakfast. While he ate off freshly cleaned dishes in the warm kitchen, he flipped through more of the tenant complaints. He paused and picked up the last one, the tenant had been unable to pay rent but was supposed to complete the construction of two bedrooms and one bath on the third floor, that explained all of the construction tools found. The tenant had started to demolish the tile in the bathroom, when his tools began to disappear. The man claimed he would put them down and a second later try to pick it back up and it was gone.

The man's six year old daughter played with an invisible friend who protected the child when the man had gone into a drunken rage one night. The man had been knocked across the room. When he had blearily opened his eyes, he saw a blond see through man glaring down at him, his daughter sitting teary eyed on his hip. Child services had been called. The next day the man was evicted and lost his daughter until he could get counseling. Trowa blinked as he read the file's particulars, the child had been Anne Une.

~*~

Trowa sat at the old-fashioned desk and looked around the room. The antiques of the place were worth a fortune, but he thought the fortune was in knowledge rather than money. He began pulling open drawers and came across a locked one. He pulled the keys out of his pocket and quickly found the correct one and unlocked it. The drawer was empty! He looked deeper in and knocked gently on the wood to see if it had a fake bottom. He heard a click and a small section of the bookshelf moved forward. Trowa got up and opened it further. He pulled out the small stack of leather books and a heavy wooden box.

After a quick glance through, he discovered that the books were Winner's journal while he had been an enlisted airman during World War I. The box was filled with pictures of Winner with his friends, whose faces he couldn't make out. Many photos were of him standing grinning next to his Bristol Scout, which he had named SandRock and had cheekily drawn a picture of Mae West on the side. Trowa smiled at the pictures then picked the whole lot up and took it to the parlor. He would read them later tonight. Right now, he needed to make sure he was truly alone in the old house. He started at the top of the house, (the basement gave him the creeps) in the low ceiling attic, looked through several old boxes of newspapers in the attic.

**Winner Heir to host Yule Ball for Fellow Pilots** headline filled the top paper. Trowa saw that the date was today's date 120 years earlier in 1916. He carefully lifted the yellowing, crumbling top paper and looked at the next headline, **Gundam Pilots land at Newman field.** Trowa could see five bi-winged planes in a hanger in the photo; he recognized Quatre's plane right away.

The next headline was about Quatre's disappearance, **Winner Heir missing Christmas Eve, Authorities baffled, family distraught, Military Concerned. **A picture of a stoic man and tearful woman were holding up a photo of Quatre in his uniform, filled most of the page. The next paper's headline stated, **No Leads in Winner Case, Authorities now looking closer at the family.** Trowa winced, that had to have been unpleasant. **Winner questioned in Son's disappearance** and a smaller headline on the society page, **Katherine Winner Collapses at Social Function** was the last of the major headlines. Many other columns were cut from the pages keeping track of the disappearance and investigations. From what he could see, Quatre's body had never been found. Katherine Winner had died a few months later and her husband had been released from police custody for lack of evidence.

Trowa was putting the musty papers back in their box when his cell rang again, "Barton," he said.

"Well," Duo began, "your house was pretty famous for a time, a great mystery…" he said his voice cheerful.

"Yes, Quatre Winner disappeared and was never found. The father was the main suspect," Trowa said as he opened a few trunks.

"Why did you have me do research if you already knew," Duo huffed.

"I just found newspapers from that time it the attic," Trowa said, "What happened after Winner was released from police custody?"

Duo blew out a breath of disgust because most of his hot information was now useless. "Well from what I gather, Winner became a recluse and began advocating Pacifism. He pretty much cut all ties from his family. He was found dead in the chapel in 1949 and per his will, was buried in his wife's family plot outside Paris." Trowa could picture Duo reading the information on his computer screen, his finger under the line leaving a smudge mark on the screen. That would drive Heero crazy. Duo's long auburn braid in his other hand tapping the end on his lips. "Haunting claims began right after that; the house went through a constant string of tenants, last one was 30 years ago."

"Our boss was the last tenant," Trowa said as he opened a trunk and pulled back crumbling tissue paper revealing Winner's military flight uniform.

"No way," Duo exclaimed, "how the hell did I miss that?"

"Une sent me the tenant's complaint list and her father was to fix up the third floor. She was playing with her invisible friend when her father tried to hurt her; the 'ghost' threw him across the room."

Duo let out a low whistle, "no wonder she has an interest in the house."

Trowa gave a hum of agreement as he gently lifted the uniform onto the floor and looked in the trunk. Several more pictures were scattered on the bottom as well as a model airplane painted to look like SandRock. "Are all three of you coming on the 26th?"

"Yep," Duo said, "WuFei is going to join us at the 'Port and we are going to drive. Need anything else?"

"You might need sleeping bags," Trowa said, "I'm sleeping in the one good bed. The bed in the servant's quarters is disgusting and I am not sure about the one in the master bedroom." Duo hummed as he wrote things down. "Is Heero there?" Trowa asked.

"Yep, hang on," Duo said. Trowa jerked the phone away from his ear as Duo yelled for Heero, "Trowa wants to talk to you."

Trowa grinned as Duo yelped. Trowa could picture Heero bopping Duo on the head, and the phone was transferred, "Barton," Heero's deep voice came over the phone, "what can I do for you?"

"I have a mission for you," Trowa said, "operation keep Duo from finding and opening Christmas presents before you get here."

He could hear the smirk in Heero's voice as he said, "Mission accepted," and Trowa told him where the gifts for his friends were hidden and to bring them with him.

~*~

The back yard was a pure blanket of snow; nothing disturbed the surface close to the house. As Trowa made his way through nearly hip deep white he spotted small animal footprints on top of snow. He had searched the whole house (including the large furnace that would have to be replaced) and confirmed that he was indeed the only person in it. He knew that in the back of the property there was a greenhouse, where Quatre had held his Yule Ball. He followed what he hoped was a path between the large trees and found an old building.

Trowa pushed open the door and found himself in an ancient chapel. 'Where Winner Senior died,' Trowa reminded himself as he moved through the room. A large ornate cross sat on an altar at the front of the room; on the left was a metal gate. Trowa moved to the gate, opened the very squeaky door and found steps that led down. Flicking on his flashlight, he followed the steps and discovered the family mausoleum. Katherine's crypt laid next to her husband's in the center of the room. Looking around the room he discovered an empty shelf that was marked with Quatre's name. It was filled with dried up leaves and rodent droppings. The only things living down here were rats.

~*~

The two-story greenhouse was beautiful and it didn't take too much imagination to see it filled with flowers, decorations, men in uniform and women in ballroom dress. He could see that the orchestra would have been on the second floor, as well as the food tables. The tables that were on the first level were filled with troughs of dead plants. Most of the windows were still intact, only a few had been broken during the years. Again, the only living things were the small rodents and rabbits that now nested in the empty building.

~*~

The large lock on the garage proved to be a challenge as it was frozen and heavily rusted. Trowa glared at it before wading back through the snow to his truck and pulling out his crowbar. After a few moments of work, he snapped the lock off and swung the door open. The garage held an old Model-T convertible under a dust cover, and Trowa whistled in appreciation. 'Duo would love this thing,' he thought. 'I wonder if Lady Une would give it to him.'

A large stack of firewood stood at the far end and Trowa spent the next hour wading back and forth between the garage and the house to fill all of the fireboxes. He stacked several layers of wood on the back porch. He closed the door, looking ruefully at the now broken lock, picked up his crowbar, turned back to the house. He stopped, frozen in place. Someone was watching him from an upper window. The man had blond hair that shown from a light that seemed to come from behind him. He made eye contact with Trowa, gave him a small smile and a wave, and then the light disappeared. The man vanished as well.

Trowa ran as fast as he could through the snow, skidding to a stop on the porch steps, flung open the front door and then raced up the stairs. He opened the art studio doors with a snap, nothing, no one. "Come on out," Trowa yelled into the still house, "I'm not going to hurt you," the atmosphere felt tense, waiting, "and I'm not leaving, you can't frighten me." He felt the atmosphere relax and heard a soft sigh. He turned around, and again seeing no one, made his way down the stairs, closing and locking the front door.

The painting in the parlor caught his eyes; he moved to look at the blond man staring at him. He paused, as the painting's eyes seemed to move staring at him. A shadow lurked behind Quatre's chair. Trowa could make out the silhouette of someone tall standing there. Glancing into Quatre's eyes, he blushed when his stomach gave a loud growl. He blinked as he could have sworn Quatre's painted smile grew in amusement. "Yeah, yeah," Trowa said waving at the painting, "I'll feed ya, just hold on."

~*~

Aug 2 1915

Met my fellow trainees today and am bunking with four other swell fellows. WC seems a bit of a posh wet blanket, but DM is convinced that he can push him over easily. HY keeps calling DM a sap, but DM just grins. TB is a quiet pull through, but I can see the humor in his green eyes. They all seem on the level even though WC and HY are, as my dear father would say, foreign and heathens. DM wanted to go to the local Juice Joint, but HY reminded him that he couldn't be drunk on his first official day. DM was very cute when he pouted.

Before becoming a pilot, DM fixed up jalopies for his uncle's garage. His favorite was an old Model-T fivver that he tinkered with then converted into a breezer. The girls in his village loved going around with the top down. DM originally is from the colonies, but migrated to the island as a teen when his father died. TB is from the continent. WC and HY are, surprisingly, from the orient. WC is very studious and married, poor man. His wife is also foreign and he has permission to visit her once a month while in training.

The Commander ZM came in and told us lights out. It was all DM and I could do not to snicker in the man's face. We haven't had a curfew since we were children! TB gave us this look. You could tell he and WC were going to be book thumpers.

Sept 15 1915

First mission flight today, flew in low over France for a little recon. We didn't spot much for a while then we came across several trenches. My mother's heart is broken as she thinks about her beloved homeland in the hands of the Germans. The latest letter from her sisters spoke of harsh conditions. DM began a raiding run on the entrenched troops. He brought several eggs with him and began dropping them on the troops. The flash of the grenades was a sight to see. We joined in and watched as the Huns retreated in disorder. Our small victory was cut short as several planes came in and we began to dogfight. This was what we had been trained for! WC and HY took on most of the enemies as DM, TB and I weaved in and out of the line of fire. We were also dodging Silent Percy and Sues. Many call it dishonorable as it is usually plane on plane, one on one, but this tactic seemed to leave the enemy confused. We shot down 4 out of the 6 planes. ZM wasn't sure whether to call us on the mat or praise us so he just shook his head and stomped off after we landed. We celebrated with a meal of Gruney and Gunfire, but I think that the beef was slightly off as I had nightmares all night.

~*~

_"You're going to be late you know," A voice said behind Trowa and he turned and grinned at Quatre, then looked back in the mirror as he straightened the medals on his dress uniform. Quatre came up behind him and stood on his tiptoes to peer over Trowa's shoulder, "Midii is going to have her dance card filled if you don't hurry." Quatre warned again then winked, "by me or Max."_

_"Dry up, Winner," Trowa said, "she only has eyes for me, besides I thought you were hung up on my sister," and for a moment something flickered in Quatre's eyes then he smirked at Trowa and rolled his eyes._

_Trowa put his hand to his head and closed his eyes in pain, "Trowa?" Quatre touched his shoulder, "headache?"_

_"Just a bit," he sat down on Quatre's bed while his friend put some aspirin powder in a glass of water. He drank it, grimacing over the taste, handed the glass back. Quatre came back and gently touched the spot that Trowa had hit by flying metal on their last run. "I guess our heads aren't as made from Gundam as our nerves are." Quatre snorted and moved away and frowned, "are you sure you don't need to see the Rats?"_

_"Yes," Trowa got to his feet, swayed and nearly fell._

_"Trowa!" Quatre yelled as Trowa's vision went dark and he hit the floor with a loud crack._

~*~

"Trowa!" Trowa jerked awake, the journal slipping to the floor as another loud pop came from the fireplace. Trowa sat up and looked around the empty parlor, his heart pounding, his head throbbing softly in time with it. He took several deep breaths and the pain in his head quickly subsided to a dull ache. He rubbed it feeling the scar behind his hairline another reminder of why he was really here. He had been shot six weeks earlier, his partner killed. This was his assignment before he went back on active duty. He had been lucky the bullet had lodged just under the skin of his temple and had only cracked his skull. Duo had been smirking when he woke up from the surgery and loudly informed him that he was truly a hardheaded individual. "Baka," Heero said as he pulled the protesting Duo out saying that he needed sleep not teasing, but someone had stayed with him. Trowa had a hard time remembering who that person was. He could only remember the aqua colored eyes filled with concern. When he had been released, he had discovered that no one knew who the person was that had sat with him every night during his hospital stay. They had seen fit to have him start seeing a counselor.

He stretched, banked the fire in the parlor and made his way up the stairs to the more comfortable bed.

~*~

Quatre watched his friend sleep, carefully adding logs to the fire in order not to wake him. The clock in the hall struck three. Quatre sighed as he stood up and gently touched his hand to Trowa's cheek. Trowa shivered slightly, rolled over and ducked lower under the blankets.

Comments and Criticisms Welcomed

1915 Slang

Baby – sweetheart, high value or respect

Balled up - confused

Bee's Knees – the ultimate

Bearcat – fiery

Bimbo – tough guy

Book thumpers (I made this one up) by-the-rule-book or Bible thumpers.

Dry up – get lost

Eggs – hand grenades

Fivver – old beat up car

Go West - stolen

Gruney - meal made with tinned beef, onion, biscuits and salt

GunFire – Strong tea laced with rum

Huns – Germans

Juice Joint – speakeasy

Posh – Smart

Pull through – tall person

Rats – Rats after moldy cheese or Royal Army Medical Corps

Sap – fool

Silent Sue (Susan) – high velocity artillery shell

Silent Percy – Long range guns

Wind - scared

Yank – American


	3. Dec 24

~*~Dec 24 ~*~

_Still don't own… Santa please? I've been mostly good right?_

~*~

Trowa blinked awake and squinted at the bright morning light coming in through the window. He sat up and with a sigh began his day. As he was eating breakfast he paused mid chew as he realized something. He quickly finished, went upstairs and looked in the art studio that was facing the front of the house. Two windows faced the yard and his nearly buried vehicle. He went outside and stood on the hood of his truck and counted three windows not two. He gauged the distance between the hood of his truck and the porch roof and with a nod jumped. The fingers of his right hand slipped on ice but his left hand gripped hard. He was able to find a good grip with his right and slowly pulled himself up on the snow-covered roof. He moved carefully, planting his feet firmly, leaning slowly forward to make sure the aged wood could handle his weight, and moved to the windows.

The first window he shown his flashlight in was the art studio, as was the second. The third window, however, was a bedroom. He shown the light between the wall and the door went back to the second window and did the same then quickly moved off the groaning roof into the house and up the stairs. Pacing slowly from the art studio door, he stopped about where he thought the door to the bedroom might be. Looking closely at the wallpaper, he realized that it hadn't been put up as well as the rest. He slid his finger along the seam and pulled. Hastily put up boards covered the wall, but through a few gaps, Trowa could make out a door behind it.

Trowa went back downstairs thankful that he had forgotten to put his crowbar back in the truck. He ran back up the stairs and very carefully began prying the boards apart. He winced at the damage to the wood underneath but steadily removed the wood until the door was completely revealed. The house felt filled with nervous anticipation. Trowa tried the handle and cursed softly when it was locked. He quickly sorted through the key ring and found the one key that was marked unknown. He stared at it then at the doorknob and tried it. The lock turned easily and the door swung silently opened.

He walked in and a wave of dizziness swept over him, he felt himself falling, "Trowa!" He thought he heard someone yell and felt someone try and catch him before he lost consciousness.

~*~

_"Quat?" Trowa asked during a break in the dancing and walked up the to refreshment table, "is something wrong?" _

_Quatre tried to smile, but the pensive look in his eyes didn't diminish, "I'm not sure," he said finally and leaned back against the glass._

_"Talk to me," Trowa said his voice soft and commanding, Quatre sighed._

_"I overheard something," he said as he took a sip of punch, "and it worried me."_

_"What?" Trowa pressed, Quatre sighed again looking incredibly sad. Trowa moved in front of him and touched Quatre's shoulder. "Talk to me," he said and gave the blond a little shake._

_Quatre closed his eyes, "I think my father might be a traitor." He opened his eyes and stared at Trowa, his eyes filled with pain and anguish. Trowa grabbed Quatre's arm and moving down the stairs, through the dancing crowd, led him to the dark chapel. _

_"Talk to me," Trowa demanded a third time and Quatre sighed as he moved to sit on a pew._

_"It was right after you fell," Quatre said, "I was going back to the bedroom to see if you were up to tonight." He leaned forward and rubbed his temples. Trowa sat next to him and watched. "He was talking on the phone in mother's studio; he was telling someone that our Gundams were in the hanger." Trowa's eyes grew wide and Quatre hastened to reassure him, "I let Ro and Fei know. They contacted the commander and they are being moved to Round Meadows, an hour south of here. He's also putting extra guards on tonight."_

_"I wondered where those two were…" Trowa muttered to himself._

_Quatre growled slightly, "my father informed me that the heathens were going to be watched." Trowa looked as if he were smacked at the insult, "and I told my father that if they left because of him, I was leaving as well."_

_Trowa gave his friend a distracted smile as he thought about the repercussions of his discovery. "What are you going to do?" he asked._

_Quatre sighed and covered his face with his hands. "Can you take Cathy and Midii home?" His aqua-blue eyes filled with pain and determination, "I want to talk to him after the party and before I turn him in."_

_"This could end your Airman career," Trowa said softly._

_"I know," Quatre said, "but what else can I do? He's my father."_

~*~

Trowa groaned in pain as he slowly rolled over and sat up. It was stupid of him to walk into a room that had been sealed for over a hundred years without waiting for fresh air to circulate. He looked around the room, the sinking sun sending shadows across the walls; a thick snow had begun to fall. He looked at the bed and his breath caught. A skeleton laid on the bed, wearing his dress uniform complete with medals and ribbons. He stood up and crossed the amazingly dust free floor and flicked the lamp beside the bed hoping that the light bulb still worked. It did. As he looked at the body, he could see the blood stains on the uniform. "I take it your talk with your father didn't go well?" He sighed as he touched the ribbons on the uniform.

"He was pretty angry," a voice said behind him and he quickly turned but the room was empty.

"Your mother was heartbroken," Trowa said to the empty room.

A sigh filled the room, he could almost feel the regret, "I know."

"Why can't I see you?" Trowa asked turning around.

"You still don't believe," came the response and then the room felt empty.

He pulled out his phone and dialed Lady Une, "Une," came the quick response.

"I found Quatre Winner's body," he said.

A long pause then, "Where?"

"A room on the second floor; it was probably his bedroom. The door was boarded over then wallpapered, the investigators didn't look very well," Trowa said as he left the room and closed the door behind him and walked down the stairs.

"I don't think they ever really suspected the family until the American on their air team started causing a ruckus," Une said, "two pilots missing, both in the same area. At first they thought that the men had fought over a girl and one killed the other, but when the Frenchman never re-surfaced."

"Wait, two pilots?" Trowa paused and looked at the painting on the parlor wall. The person behind Quatre was becoming more distinct, no longer just a dark shadow. Trowa moved closer to it and tried to peer into the face but it was still cast in shadows.

"Yes, the Gundams pilot names were pretty much unknown except for Winner. They were more known by nationality than name," Une said then paused, he could hear someone talking to her. "I can send a team up and give Winner a proper burial some time next week."

"I don't think that he is going anywhere," Trowa said as he moved back up the stairs, opened the door again and looked back at the pilot's bones. He hung up. He looked more closely at the skull, noticing a hairline fracture right where his own injury and scar were. "You aren't Quatre," he said sitting back slightly, "you're the Frenchman, so where is your body Quatre?"

~*~

Jan 9, 1916

The war isn't going well, so many men dying in the trenches. Conscripted ages at home are lowering and rising so we now have grey beards and young kids. Most of the youngsters think they are the bee's knees, but they are just filled with bearcat. ZM has had to slap several bimbos down to size; mostly we are dealing with a real ball up. DM had to limp home the other day, his DeathScythe sputtered along. The rest of us kept circling to keep the Huns from attacking him. I think the Yank is carrying a torch for someone, but he won't talk about his baby. I'm carrying a torch for someone too…

Mar 19, 1916

DM asked if we could move his fivver into my parent's garage. Apparently ZM is tired of tripping on it and finding him working under it. ZM has ordered it off the base. DM is afraid that if he puts it into public storage, it will go west. We are driving it up to the house next weekend. WC is going to stop by to see his wife, she isn't doing very well. He is going to pick us up on Sunday and drive us back to the base. I hope my father minds his words when he meets WC and HY.

Mar 21, 1916

WC's wife died, complications in childbirth. WC is pretty broken up. The war has taken most of the medical personnel away from the civvies and our people are suffering for it. I hope the war ends soon for the sake of us all.

June 30 1916

We have been called to give fire cover in Somme; I have a bad feeling about this. DM is trying to laugh it off as my being windy, but I can tell he is hiding his own unease as well.

July 5 1916

God help us all, that battle of Somme was horrific; latest count almost 20,000 dead and 40,000 injured. DM found some bootleg and drank most of the bottle before HY was able to drag it away. We all had a few stiff ones from it, anything to dull our memories.

Dec 20, 1916

Got leave for us all and contacted mother to start setting up a Yule Ball. Mother is thrilled, father is oddly silent. It makes me rather uneasy.

~*~

_Trowa came back to the Winner estate after dropping Midii and Cathy off at the hostel down the road. The greenhouse lights were still on. Mrs. Winner was directing the clean up by several of the local women. Their pay was money and splitting the left over foods, which would be welcomed in the rationed climate. He moved into the house as the clock struck three, he could hear raised voices and knew that Quatre was 'talking' with his father. A gunshot filled the air. He sprinted following the sound of harsh sobbing and cautiously slid the study door open. "Quatre," he said his eyes on his fallen comrade. He knelt next to him and picked up the limp body cradling it, "Quatre." He glared up at the man who was slumped against his desk, "why?" _

_"He knows how I feel about war," Winner Senior said._

_"So that gives you the right to turn traitor and sabotage your son's plane, then shoot him?" Trowa's green-eyes sparked angrily_

_"His wasn't suppose too…" the man's eyes widened as he realized that Trowa knew._

_"Do you honestly think they would have cared if your son died?" Trowa said. He looked down as he felt a hand on his chest, "Quatre," he murmured and looked into his friend's eyes and watched the light slowly fade from them, "hold on. Call for a medic," he ordered Winner Senior and turned back to his friend._

_As he felt pain explode in the back of his head he thought to himself, the guys would kill him for turning his back on an enemy, then nothing._

~*~

Comments and Criticisms Welcomed

1915 Slang

Baby – sweetheart, high value or respect

Balled up - confused

Bee's Knees – the ultimate

Bearcat – fiery

Bimbo – tough guy

Book thumpers (I made this one up) by-the-rule-book or Bible thumpers.

Dry up – get lost

Eggs – hand grenades

Fivver – old beat up car

Go West - stolen

Gruney - meal made with tinned beef, onion, biscuits and salt

GunFire – Strong tea laced with rum

Huns – Germans

Juice Joint – speakeasy

Posh – Smart

Pull through – tall person

Rats – Rats after moldy cheese or Royal Army Medical Corps

Sap – fool

Silent Sue (Susan) – high velocity artillery shell

Silent Percy – Long range guns

Wind - scared

Yank – American


	4. Dec 25

~*~Dec 25 ~*~

_Still don't own, and Santa, I think you forgot something under my tree ::pout::_

Trowa gave a soft groan as his pounding head woke him the next morning. He cautiously rolled over and gently touched his head, "Happy Christmas to me," he thought to himself as he sat slowly up and pulled his duffle to him. He fumbled for a moment and pulled out a bottle of pills. He hated to take them, but his head… he wasn't sure what was worse the muzzy feelings the pills gave him or the pain. A pulse of pain from his head decided him, he dry swallowed two tablets. He closed his eyes willed the pills to work quickly; after what seemed hours, he was finally able to open his eyes and was relieved not to feel a spike of pain.

As he came out of the bedroom, he stopped in shock at the view that awaited him. The first floor was now completely decorated for Christmas. Trowa blinked at garland that had been wrapped around the banister of the curved staircase. The tree was now brightly lit and twinkling, ornaments sparkling. Gifts were under it wrapped in cheerful papers. Trowa's breath caught as he saw his name on several of the tags. As he passed through the dinning room, the table had a large bowl of glass ornaments with bright red and white poinsettia leaves all around them. He quickly looked outside. The snow finally stopped sometime in the early hours of the morning several inches had fallen, no new footprints were outside. He did a quick search of the house again, no one and nothing, but he had to admit that the decorations on the lower floor were beautiful.

Even though some of the gifts under the tree were marked for him, he wanted to wait for the guys before he opened them, just to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. He paced through the house, how was Quatre doing all this? And why him? He tried to remember what the reports had said: mostly talking, noises, and cold spots. The only physical manifestation had been with Une when he had protected her from her father's fists. So why was he special?

Distracted he picked up his leather notebook that he had left on the coffee table. He flipped back through some of the tenant reports confirming what he remembered. He closed his eyes and tried to think, replaying the newspapers headlines over in his mind, Duo's conversation and blinked his eyes open, 'if Winner Senior is buried in Paris, who is buried in Winner Senior crypt?' He nipped upstairs and grabbed his crowbar. Without putting his jacket on, ran quickly to the chapel and crypt. He paused for a moment then, with a shrug, began to pry off the heavy stone top. It was slow work and he was sweating by the time he broke the seal. Slowly he pushed the top aside. When enough of it was opened, he pulled his flashlight out of his pocket and shined it down, "hello Quatre."

~*~

He listened to the still house then scrambled to his feet and raced to find his phone, "Barton," he said slightly out of breath.

"Thought the ghost had gotten you," Duo said his voice cheerful.

"Give me the phone, baka," Trowa heard Heero say and the phone was transferred, "report."

Trowa rolled his eyes at Heero's tone; "I found both Quatre Winner's body and the Frenchman's from his unit. I notified Lady Une of one of the bodies but was incorrect in the identification. The Frenchman's upstairs, Quatre's is in his father's crypt in the family chapel."

"Where is Winner Senior buried then?" Heero asked.

"In Paris," Duo's voice came clear over the phone, "can I have my phone back now?" A moment of shuffling and Duo came in loud and clear, "Anything else exciting?"

Trowa smirked, "you will never believe what I found in the garage."

"What?" Duo asked his voice excited.

"A Model-T that had been converted into a convertible." Trowa said his voice smug.

"What?" Duo squeaked, "tell me you aren't joking, please tell me you aren't…" the phone was yanked away and he could hear voices in the background.

"What did you tell the braided baka that has him hyperventilating and drooling at the same time?" WuFei sardonic voice came on the line and Trowa could tell that he was on speaker.

"The garage here has a Model-T convertible in pretty good shape," Trowa said.

"Is it in working condition?" Heero asked.

"Unknown at present," Trowa said, "this house is amazing. I am actually thinking of asking Une if I could buy it off of her and keep it for myself." He gasped as he felt arms come up behind him and give him a hug. When he turned, no one was there.

"Have you seen Winner yet?" Duo asked sounding slightly out of breath but ecstatic.

"Only glimpses out of the corner of my eye," Trowa said, "there is a painting of him in the parlor, but I haven't seen him face to face yet…" he walked in and paused. Quatre aqua-blue eyes were smiling at him. The person behind him was now clear. He was staring at himself in full military uniform.

"Would you want to?" two voices asked which shook him from his shock, one from the phone, the other behind him.

"Yeah," Trowa said turning slowly in place, "I think I would." Quatre Winner was sitting calmly drinking tea on the sofa watching him, his aqua-blue eyes twinkling with delight. "I'll see you soon," he said then cut off Duo's excited yelp.

"Hello," Quatre said and stood up holding out his hand, "I'm Quatre Winner."

"Trowa Barton," Trowa said shaking the proffered hand and feeling the man's warmth, "I remember you from the hospital…"

"I'd hoped," Quatre said then tilted his head at Trowa's intense stare, "how is your head?"

Trowa raised a dazed hand to it, "better, thanks," he continued to stare at Quatre, "how come you are no longer invisible?"

"Because you believe in me," Quatre said, "would you really buy the house?"

"In a heart beat," Trowa said and Quatre smiled in delight.

"Then welcome home…"

Comments and Criticisms Welcomed


	5. Dec 26

~*~ Dec 26 ~*~

_Don't own, ::pouting:: and Santa forgot, stupid Santa._

"Trowa!" Duo yelled as he opened the front door his long braid swinging and his amethyst blue eyes twinkling, "we're here!" He walked in and whistled as he took in the Christmas tree and the merrily crackling fire. He looked up and froze.

"Move in, Maxwell," WuFei said bumping Duo from behind to move him out of the way as he carried in the boxes of food for the week visit. He set them down and removed his hat smoothing his black hair and tightening the small ponytail, "or better yet, help out." Heero came in behind and bumped the door shut with his hip, then setting a box down on the floor, looked around.

Duo had moved into the parlor and stared up at the painting with what looked like horror. "Trowa?" he said softly and raised his hand to touch the ancient canvas.

"What are you looking at, baka?" Heero said and then stared up, his blue eyes widening in shock, "Kami!" he said softy under his breath.

WuFei was silent as he came up and stared at the painting, "We need to search the house," he said, "He should have answered us by now."

"But he's right here," Duo said his voice desperate, "how can he be in the painting?"

"Come on," Heero said walking to the door, "I'll check the other buildings."

~*~

Two hours later the three pilots met in the parlor, "Where could he be?" Duo asked, his voice hollow.

"His belongings are still here, we'll find him," WuFei put a hand on the distraught pilot's shoulder, "I promise."

"Look at the painting," Heero motioned to it.

"Who are the shadows?" Duo asked moving forward. A shadow was sitting on the floor at Quatre's feet, two others were behind him next to the painted Trowa, "they weren't there earlier right?"

"No, Duo," WuFei said, "they weren't."


	6. Dec 29

~*~ Dec 29 ~*~

_Don't Own_

Lady Une, Noin and Sally opened the door of the old house. "Mr. Noventa is really pushing for the punishment of the Gundam Pilots," Noin was saying as she walked into the house, "and even I want to know where you've hidden the scoundrels."

"I haven't done anything with them," Une said as she took off her coat and walked into the parlor.

"Then where are they?" Sally asked, "and why are we here?"

"I needed to pick up some things," Une said moving into the study. She found the stack of journals and box of photos on the desk, "see if you can remove that painting on the wall above the fireplace."

Noin nodded and moved the coffee table close to the wall and carefully tested it before standing on it. She froze, "How… Who?"

"What's wrong?" Sally asked and gaped, "is that the pilots?"

"If it is than this painting is a fake," Noin said and carefully lifted it down. Sally gave her a hand to put it on the couch, "they look so alive," she said and touched the canvas, "Winner, Barton, Chang, Yuh and Maxwell, Gundam Pilots, Dec 24, 1916," she read from the small bronze plaque at the bottom of the frame.

"Hello, gentlemen," Une said as she came back. Noin swore that Maxwell gave her a cheek wink, Quatre's smile grew, Heero and WuFei gave small nods and Trowa's eyes grew warmer.

"Well wherever they are," Sally said, "I hope they are happy, especially Trowa. He looked so lost after Quatre's death. That wound to the head didn't help, but I never realized how close the two were until then."

"I am sure they are," Une said softly then motioning to the two other women moved back to the door and closed and locked it behind her.

"We need to leave before that snowstorm hits," Noin said as she carefully put the painting in the back of her SUV. Une nodded then looked up to the second floor windows and gave a small wave. A shadow moved on the second floor, a curtain covered the window again.

~*~

A soft glow filled the fireplace and the room was filled with decorations. The tree under the stair cast a cheerful light, "Can we open our gifts now?" Duo asked as he came in from the kitchen with a tray full of eggnog, his khaki shirtsleeves rolled up.

"Sap," Heero said from where he was adding more logs to the fire and Duo stuck out his tongue before putting the tray down on the coffee table. Quatre came down the steps still in his military dress uniform and flicked the old radio in the corner on. An Irving Berlin Christmas song played softly. He loosened his tie and took off the jacket laying it across the newel post. Trowa came down a moment later his arms stacked with gifts, his war medals making a soft clicking sound as he walked. He put the gifts down then took of his jacket and laid it on top of Quatre's and picked them back up and put them next to the Christmas tree.

"I don't think we are going to keep him back much longer, Yuh," WuFei said as he brought in a tray of sandwiches. Duo grinned then picked one up and took a bite. Heero smirked at his friend, after looking at the other pilots, waved his hand. Duo gave a yip of excitement and started distributing the gifts from under the tree. The others laughed as Trowa and Quatre came forward to give him a hand.

The End

Comments and Criticisms Welcomed


End file.
